


Interstitial Space

by threadofgrace



Category: Dublin Murder Squad Series - Tana French
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadofgrace/pseuds/threadofgrace
Summary: During The Trespasser, Stephen reached out to Frank. You won't ever catch him admitting that to Conway though.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueteak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueteak/gifts).



> As the summary suggests, this is set during The Trespasser. I realize I'm taking a big risk in assuming that you've read it already, but I'm crossing my fingers that you have. For some reason though, I just couldn't get the idea for this story out of my head. 
> 
> If you haven't read The Trespasser yet, I think this mostly still works. I've tried to be very vague at the relevant points and avoid major spoilers, especially for the second half of the book, but it is suggestive of several of the big plot points from that book.
> 
> Thanks to Kivrin for the beta

Here is a story I'll never admit to Conway.

We may have patched things up between us, but there's the kind of sharing and caring that goes on between partners and then there's admitting to whatever the hell it was that went on that night. One thing I have mostly never been accused of is being stupid. I've got a fair idea how Conway would react if I told her about this and I value every part of my anatomy too much to test that theory.

So, no. This is a story that stays with me. And if lately I’ve found myself lying in bed, relentlessly turning that night over in my head with the fading hope of understanding this strange new thing that the two of us had brought into the world, well then that’s for me alone to deal with. 

The truth is, as much as I like to pretend otherwise, I don’t let go of certain things or people the way I should. It’s a bad habit, especially for a cop.

__________________

Back during the Aislinn Murray case, I reached out to Frank Mackey. He wasn't my first, second, or even fifth choice for a contact, not after the business at St. Kilda's, but Conway and I were floundering and growing more paranoid by the day. We needed someone well outside of the squad, someone we could more or less trust who also had connections. As a man who made it a point to know the goings-on of the criminal underclass of Dublin, it made an undeniable amount of sense to message Frank to see if he knew anything that hadn’t turned up on anyone else’s radar.

I didn't tell Conway at first, because I knew she would be furious and I wanted to avoid that fight until I had found out if he knew anything worth knowing. Then, by the time Frank actually texted for a meeting, things between us had turned so frosty and strained that I simply didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

The pub where Frank asked me to meet him turned out to be a dingy little workingman's place, nice and discreet and full of plenty of dark corners out of the way of prying policeman eyes. It's pretty much exactly the sort of place I would have imagined Frank Mackey frequenting. I'm sure he takes his contacts there, or somewhere else exactly like it.

He was seated at the bar when I walked in, with a half drunk pint in front of him. For a brief, strange second, it crossed my mind that he looked old, far more so than he had seemed a year ago at St. Kilda’s. Then he noticed me. We nodded at each other and he was instantly the same old Mackey as always, full of easy grace and exuding charm like it was an offensive maneuver.

"Stephen my man, it's been quite a year for you," he said as I came over, draining the rest of his glass with an extravagant swallow. "It has been quite the year.”

“Has it, then?” I answered as I took the seat next to him, aiming for as noncommittal a tone as I could do.

He grinned at me, but it didn’t quite reach the eyes. “Ah, don’t be getting modest now, Stephen. A big, high profile solve and now you’re a Murder D, just like you were dreaming of being, all the way back when we first met.” All that forced bonhomie, it was just this shade of wrong, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why.

The barman slid down a pint for me along with a fresh one for Frank. Instead of answering him, I took my own long swallow, savoring the taste. Maybe Conway's attitude had finally rubbed off on me. Maybe I’d just realized that I'd grown up and that I owed none of it and nothing at all to the man sitting in front of me. Either way, I wasn’t in the mood for Frank’s games. Suddenly all I wanted to do was to get out and put this godforsaken day behind me.

“How’s working with Conway?” Frank asked me.

I glanced at him, more sharply than I had intended. I saw him catch my reaction. He had heard something, either about the case or just the usual gossip. “She’s fine,” I said. “We make a good team,” I told him, which is mostly true.

He snorted into his beer. “I’m sure that one is a barrel of laughs.”

“We’re getting along grand,” I said, more strongly this time.

“Do you hear me disputing that?” he said mildly, arching an eyebrow.

I drank some more beer instead of answering.

“So, I’d like to know if you’ve found anything,” I asked, too tired to be anything less than direct with him.

“Ah yes, those mysterious criminal underground connections that you needed me to look into. And before I go ahead and share such such sensitive details, would you like to tell me why exactly it is that you’d be needing that information?”

I had explained the bare minimum over text, but I figured that I owed him a little more than that, even if I didn't relish telling him. I told him my theory of the murder, as straightforwardly as I could. He laughed long and hard while the barman got us both another round.

“Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, you’re in the wrong profession. You should have been a novelist instead of a cop. You’d be making millions on your screenplay alone.”

“It fits the facts,” I told him, actively trying not to set my jaw. “If I could get just get something solid then maybe-“

“Are you listening to yourself?” he cut in. “Technically aliens would fit the facts too, if you only could get something solid. Or maybe Kim Kardashian flew in for a top secret one night only murder spree before heading back to Hollywood and nobody told-“

I stood abruptly. “If you’ve got nothing useful, than I have better things to do with my time.”

He saw my expression and stopped talking, raising a placating hand to me. “Wait. Stay and finish your round at least. You, you took me by surprise was all.”

It was a more sincere apology than I had expected. I sat back down slowly and drained my glass. There was a long moment of silence as we each focused on our beer.

“What I don’t fully understand,” Frank said slowly, inspecting the world through his own half drunk glass, “is why you came to me for this. Surely you’ve made your own contacts by now inside of Organized Crime.”

I gave a careful little shrug. "I thought you'd be interested. Call it a professional courtesy."

"You mean you've staked a lot on your pet theory but weren't getting any bites. And now you're getting desperate." He drained his glass with a noisy flourish and set it back down with a thud. " And who does Young Stephen turn to when the chips are down and he's backed into a corner? His old pal, Frank."

I don't deny any of it. With Frank, it wouldn't do any good.

He sighed a little. "I looked into it. Made a few calls to a few friends in very low places. There's nothing there. Sorry kid." He actually, unbelievably, looked sorry.

It was no less than I had expected him to say, but I had been hoping he would surprise me. I gestured for another round for both of us. It gave me a chance to collect my thoughts.

“Are you sure,” I began and stopped, trying to choose my words with precision. “And there was no sign of any kind of anyone with connections to someone inside…Dublin Castle?”

He put his drink down and looked at me full on. “What exactly are you saying?”

“Nothing for certain,” I said, stammering slightly under the weight of his gaze. Damn Frank and his endless capacity to make me feel like a new recruit. “I don’t know anything for sure. I just…there are a lot of little things that are adding up to something bigger, and right now, I’m not sure who I can trust.”

He watched me carefully during my little speech. “Kid…” he finally said, “I hope that you know when it’s time to call in the cavalry.”

“What?” I said, scratching my head. “Do you mean IA? Maybe, but…not yet.”

We both went back to our beer. I tried to pretend that I didn't notice him watching me out of the corner of his eye, although I can't imagine that I fooled him.

“How’s Holly?” I said finally, desperate for a change in topic.

Frank exhaled. “It’s been a rough year." he said.

“I’m sorry,” I said and meant it. I hadn’t seen Holly since the trial, where she had sat pale and silent as a mannequin, studiously avoiding making eye contact with anyone. “I can’t imagine how it’s been for her.”

"No, I don’t suppose you can Stephen.” He hesitated for a moment, and then added, “Olivia and I are on a break again."

"Sorry to hear it. " I said startled.

A corner of his mouth twitched. His expression was casually vicious. "Ah well, if you’re very sorry then. You know, I’ve got to tell you that this concern for my family’s wellbeing doesn’t mean a lot when it comes from the guy who once tried to go after my own daughter for murder.”

“Look,” I started to say, swallowing.

His face was already softening. “Ignore me Stephen. He finished his glass. “The truth is, I’m getting old. And maudlin. Olivia and I were having problems long before last year. This latest business with Holly only capped things off. And in the end you just have to pick the battles that you’re willing to fight. And on the other side, you have to know when the causalities would be too high.”

I studied him while he talked. He looked wrecked and...fragile, which is not a word I would ever have thought to associate with Frank Mackey. Any words of comfort I tried out would be soundly rejected. So, instead, I offered an admission of my own. 

“Murder is not exactly what I thought it would be.” He was looking down at the bar, away from me, but I could tell he was listening.

Until it was coming out of my mouth, I hadn’t realized just how much I had needed to tell someone this. “I mean, I wouldn’t trade it for anything,” I said, with a swallow. “Conway and I, we really work. We may be having some problems at the moment, but most of the time it’s…frightening how good it is. But everything else, the squad, the way we get frozen out, it’s not exactly what I had imagined.” 

He was looking at me again, but only out of the corner of his eye. “That’s called being in love,” he said finally, in a very quiet voice.

I raised an eyebrow at him, confused. “What do you mean?’

“Haven’t you ever fallen in love before?” He was looking away from me again, fingers playing along the rim of his glass. “It’s the difference, Stephen,” he continued with an exhale, “between the dream and the reality of being in love. The reality’s a lot messier, kid. It’s got bits that, to put it quite frankly, suck.”

I sat still for a moment, thinking about me and Murder and what love looks like when it happens in real life. He looked deeply self-conscious, as if he hadn’t intended to say quite so sentimental out loud.

Frank cleared his throat and fumbled in his jacket for a packet of cigarettes. “Look, whatever’s been happening, it’s not gang related. But you have good instincts, Stephen, you always have. If you think there is something dodgy going on inside the squad, then there probably is. Just…keep your eyes open.”

A compliment, as genuine as it was unexpected. The great tragedy of the gingers, and especially ginger cops, is that we are fundamentally a transparent people, especially when we’ve been drinking. I blushed scarlet.

He saw it and his lips twitched upwards into a real smile. That patented Mackey grin, like the sun breaking out. Make you work for it, then dole it like a reward for good behavior. It’s the kind of smile that will get you all warm and fuzzy inside, like the moment is something private and special, just between the two of you, and you've earned the right to be a part of it. Most girls would drop their panties in a heartbeat for the chance at a smile like that. In Frank's younger days, plenty probably had.

“No smoking in here,” shouted the barman to Frank, jerking a finger at the sign above the bar. “You want to do that, you can go outside.”

There was a brief pause.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, flabbergasted.

Frank whistled long and low. “What is Ireland coming to...” We both burst into sudden giggles, as ludicrous and helpless as teenage girls.

Frank was the first one to catch his breath. “Well, no help for it. It’s the end times, Stephen. Got to live a little while we still can.” He stood up and jerked his chin towards the door. “You coming?” He held the door open for me and I followed him out into the alleyway.

I stepped outside and blinked in the sudden darkness. Then there was Mackey in front of me, expression intent and strange and far too close. Something rolled through me, as unexpected and consuming as a tidal wave. It could have the beer, or the case, or just the Dublin night air, but it felt dangerous and sweet.

"Look at you, kid," he murmured into the darkness, with something like wonder in his voice. His thumb stroked along the bone of my jaw, as light as a whisper, while Frank glanced at his hand like it had moved on its own. 

This is the thing about Frank, always has been. He’s just kept being there at every step of the way, taking up space and asking for more.

He leaned in and I leaned in and something caught between us.

It was a brutal, bruising sort of kiss; the kind of kiss that comes with clashing teeth and which can make you feel, crazily, giddily, like breathing is just something which other people need to do. He tasted like spit and sweat and beer and I wanted to climb out of my skin with how good it was, because even halfway to wasted, Frank Mackey does not do anything by halves, and kissing least of all.

He had crowded in close and was pushing me up against the wall. There was rough brick digging into the small of my back where my suit jacket and shirt had been hiked up and we were standing in something wet that I probably didn’t want to think about too much, but Frank's hands were suddenly everywhere like a live wire, spreading sparks.

A knee slid between my legs and dragged itself hot and heavy up to my crotch. I groaned into his mouth, low and long.

One of his hands found my hand and pressed it against himself, so that I could feel his cock pulsing heavy and heated through the fabric. The night was chilly and practically purring with possibilities and I was suddenly desperate for more of his warmth. With an assist from him, I loosened his belt and stuck my hand into his trousers, feeling for skin. 

His cock was long and warm and curving against my palm, as I wrapped my fingers around the base and stroked him. On impulse, I learned in and bit gently at the curve of his neck. He groaned, a funny, throaty little noise. I bit him again, harder this time and sucked on the spot, until a flush of blood bloomed below the surface. He groaned louder and stuttered his hips towards me, crushing me up against the wall until I got to enjoy the feeling of Frank Mackey coming apart, quite literally, on top of me. His face was pressed into my shoulder as he came and sighed, with a low and relieved noise.

Frank slumped against me for a long moment, just breathing, before pulling away and dropping to his knees so quickly it felt almost like whiplash. Before my brain caught up with what was happening, he had opened my trousers and was reaching inside to run a hot, callused palm against my cock. 

Then he was leaning in _even closer than before_ , while his tongue swirled over the tip. Somewhere in the corner of my brain, I wondered with a dizzy shiver, well, why not? What possible reason could there be not to have this?  


Then my hands found my way to his hair and I forgot to think again.

 

There was a mobile ringing somewhere close. It took me a long, groggy moment to understand that it was mine, and an even longer moment to fish it out of my pocket.  
Conway.

I didn’t want to answer it. I didn’t want to think about Conway. I didn’t want to think about anything at that moment, frankly.

I don’t have sex often, not really. I enjoy it as much as the next one and as a Murder D I certainly get plenty of opportunities. But there has mostly always something else I’d rather focus on, something that was too important to be distracted from.

This…came out of nowhere. And it was wrong headed on so many levels. But all I wanted to do was to sit a while longer on the filthy ground, enjoying the feel of Frank leaning against me to catch his breath.

I answered the phone for a lot of reasons in the end, but mainly because it was my job and because you can only love so many things with your whole heart.

Frank just nodded when I told him that I had to go. That strange, tired vulnerability that had been flickering in his face all evening had almost completely faded away and he looked as inscrutable as always.

 

Epilogue:

 

It was an unseasonably warm night as I came out of Dublin Castle, not long after the Murray case had been solved. Frank was waiting for just off the path and steeped in shadow. Looking at him, I remembered another time, years ago and I was stuck with a keening, vicious sense of deja vu.

He nodded to me as I drew closer. “Walk with me?”

I nodded tentatively, trying not look as off balance as I felt. We strolled for a while in silence, in the general direction of the car park.

Eventually, he said “So, it looks like you both got your man in the end, if rumors are to be believed.”

I grimaced slightly. “In a manner of speaking. It was brutal though.”

He looked at me seriously. “You did what needed to be done. Both of you did. And you emerged with relatively few scars. You should take that as a win.”

“Noted,” I said and swallowed. We lapsed into silence again.

As I was gathering myself to speak again, he abruptly said, “Olivia and I are back together.” I glanced at him, feeling something fold over in my throat. He was determinately looking away. 

“We’re seeing a couple’s therapist,” he added diffidently. “It’s better for Holly right now.”

“I see,” I said quietly, because what else was there to say.

“I may,” he took a breath, like this was hard to get out, “I believe I owe you an apology, Stephen.”

“Don’t” I said firmly, because that was one thing I couldn’t hear right now. “You don’t owe me anything Frank.”

His pressed his lips together in a firm line and we kept walking. We had just about reached my car.

“I should get going,” he said finally.

“Alright,” I told him.

He hesitated. “Remember…take the real life wins where you can. The dream wins aren’t the ones worth holding on to.” I nodded slowly and turned away.

"And Stephen," I turned back around, saw him swallow and bite down on whatever it was he was about to say.

"Yeah?"

"I..." He was staring at me. The moment expanded between us, like a cat arching its back. And then just as quickly it was gone; the cat disappearing around the corner. "Fair play to you, Stephen." 

He nodded and smiled, bright and forced, but with something real behind the eyes. And then he turned on his heel and walked away.

 

When I close my eyes at night, I can still see him, walking away into the thrumming dark. It's an image that's tattooed against my eyelids, as sharp and persistent as a heartbeat.


End file.
